


a bloodoath

by arachnida



Series: Cyberpunk Uni [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Coercion, Cyberpunk, First Time, Frottage, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Statutory Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnida/pseuds/arachnida
Summary: Shinji was taking root and couldn't stop, even if he wanted to. They were both hot and flushed, blood thumping like jackrabbits in heat. His hand found those boyish hips, held him by the crest and pushed him forward, bucking against him as a means to start a dance between them.---Shinji and Wataru are online friends who have decided to meet. It's more than Wataru is expecting, and it's exactly what Shinji needs to have Wataru's loyalty.





	a bloodoath

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/content: Underage, starts of child grooming, frottage, first time, coercion, memory tampering/personality alterations. I make it to where you have to be logged in to read for a reason, y’all.
> 
> I'm aware the age of consent is lower in Japan but the Wild West of the internet and the ten year gap, plus what Shinji plans on doing with Wataru makes me feel justified in the tags. Plus the writers are both Americans so.
> 
> Wataru – Cae, 15-17? Definitely a high schooler  
> Shinji – Me, 25, college dropout, idealist turned domestic terrorist  
> Chris Henson – nowhere to be found

It was a nice enough day: minimal clouds, sun slowly starting to set. Quiet even, save for the quick _tap tap tap_ the laptop, slowly disconnecting the various paraphernalia from heavier tasks. Shinji looked at the clock and back to his display, pacing himself to continue pretenses.

 

Maybe the kid chickened out, it was hard to say. Something told him no, that he was very rightfully scared but not stupid enough to tell the authorities. The fact he was even dabbling in their dirty little secret could get him incriminated into a juvenile penitentiary, let alone seeing a harsher sentence come adulthood.

 

He licked his lips, getting up with an accompaniment of joints popping to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. He wasn't a drinker but he half humored the idea of a beer run or even whiskey to calm the kid's nerves.

 

Nah, he wanted him sober. Memories were best preserved with as little tampering as possible.

 

He took another sip, timing himself before approaching the door.

 

He'd loitered at Shinji's door for a minute now, shifting his weight from foot to the other. If you counted his time wandering the station, the parking lot of his apartment complex and then the lobby of said complex, the minutes elapsed was forty, going on forty-five.

 

Wataru'd been this way before. Summer classes. Hiroe's graduation. It was the kind of housing popular with university students given its distance to campus-- not so close that it was uncool, but not so far that it was inconvenient. The exposed piping spoke to its past as a warehouse, as did its bolted stairwells and long, winding halls.

 

He'd gone this way, seen this place before it'd been converted... But...

Wataru raised his hand to knock and hesitated. Would Shinji tease him for being so on-the-nose? Or, would being two minutes late be too obvious? It was his first time here (first time at any person's house, a small part corrected) and he didn't want to come across as eager, much less desperate.

 

A sigh. _'Whatever... Just play it cool.'_

Shinji stood in front of his door, Wataru's nervous face reflected from the camera in the doorbell onto the connected app on his phone. He wasn't going to deny there was a certain fondness for the boy, that insistence of being an adult, being put together and having it all crash down.

 

What was that expression? Knowledge comes from learning, but wisdom comes from experience. Something to that effect.

 

Wataru was smart but not wise; Shinji wasn't much better but he had the years to pretend he did.

 

One more minute passed; showtime. Shinji opened the door, feigning surprise. "Hey there, 'ta-kun."

 

Same cool, gentle smile he had on the VR; he wore a cologne of some sort, nothing powerful but clean. "How long you been out there? There _is_ a doorbell for a reason," he offered, almost brotherly in the way he very subtly teased.

 

 _Of course_ Shinji had a door camera. God, he must have looked so fucking stupid, biding his time like that.

 

Wataru decided "Long enough" was a good enough answer and avoided the other man's eyes as stepped inside.

 

The lights had been lowered, the interior awash in a soft, yellow glow. A car passed from below; with it, the window's shadow stretched across the room and over their faces. In the VR set-up, the room was small and wholly uninteresting in every way. The pile for clothes, the piles for wires and parts, the piles for vintage magazines. But, lit so intimately like this, and with things smelling nicer than he'd realized...

 

"So... Uh..." Wataru kicked off his shoes. "My parents aren't home this time. I can stay out later tonight, I guess..."

 

"You guess, or you want to," Shinji less asked and more presented an offer. "Not that I mind, just don't want either of us in trouble."

 

He walked out of the doorway and towards the kitchenette, opening the small refrigerator and grabbing himself a bottle of water. Given the area, the water wasn't always the best without boiling. "Anything to drink?"

 

The kitchenette smelled barely used, minimal staining on the floors or walls. Whatever dishes were there were being dried in the holder; the trash had been taken out. It was put together for what it was.

 

Were they online, Wataru might have typed something coy, maybe along the lines of: "You're asking me, buddy" or "Trouble, huh?"

 

But the conversation'd left without him, Shinji having moved to the kitchen with thoughtless ease. Turned away, Wataru registered how much taller the other man was, even crouched over the mini-fridge.

 

"Root beer," Wataru responded. "Or milk, if you don't have it?"

 

He'd said the former was his favorite on multiple accounts; and, not wanting to come across even more the fraud than he'd already felt, he thought the request appropriate. Or, maybe he was thinking too much all over again.

 

"But, anyway. It's summer. They'd wanted me to spend some time outside, anyway. I study too much, never go out. Blah blah blah."

 

Like a magician, he pulled out a dark brown bottle, glassy with a metal cap. He screwed off the bottle cap and walked back to Wataru, offering the freshly opened bottle. "I remembered this but not my cords, who'd've thought."

 

He listened to Wataru's story, nodding sympathetically. His parents had been similar and pressured the same for him. "Well, you're outside of your house so that's one of the criteria down. And I suppose extracurricular activities don't hurt, right?"

 

His smile was gentle, dark eyes scanning over the youth with a detached ease as if he were a funny little curiosity. "Hungry or anything, or want to get down to business?"

 

Wataru cringed; he'd done another imperceptibly childish thing, the way Shinji looked at him like that. He needed to remind Shinji that he was more mature than other kids his age, do or say something like the pornos they'd watched recently.

 

"I already ate," he said, swinging around the couch. "So."

 

Shinji looked at Wataru, keeping a neutral expression. Bless his heart, he was trying so hard. So, so hard.

 

Nothing would change his age or lack of experience except time, and possibly regret.

 

He looked over Wataru's lying body, vaguely predatory but more amicable like a sibling. "Did you bring your stuff; the files and all that?"

 

"Oh. Yeah."

 

_That business._

 

Perhaps Wataru'd misread the other man's intentions, placing a motive where no motive really existed. Stupid dirty movies. The boy rolled to his side, pulling the laptop from his bag and heaving it onto his lap. Was he disappointed, or was he relieved? He'd hoped that his expression made neither apparent.

 

"This one, right? The one, we coded last week?"

 

Shinji observed, giving a slight node. "Yes that one. How did it run in the test sample?"

 

He sat next to Wataru, hip bone aligned with hip bone, the love seat not allowing for much personal space. The throw blanket and pillows hinted at the occasional all-nighter that left the older man sprawled out on the cheap poly-fiber furniture, despite it looking reasonably presentable. Well worn but not ratty, smelling like Shinji: electricity, plastic and something akin to gin. Juniper perhaps.

 

"I managed to score a dummy headset to play around with, see how it reacts to it," Shinji said, reaching out and presenting a slightly beaten up headset. To an observant eye, there were marks where the headset had been opened, tinkered around with, but they matched the beaten up look of a display piece.

 

"There were discrepancies between s-sub--" Wataru regained his composure. Shinji's proximity was normal. No reason to feel so wired by his presence, the way his space fit _so perfectly_ into his. "Subjects.

There's something that makes 'em more vulnerable to command sets over others. Can't figure out what, though."

 

He eyed the dummy headset with the same scrutiny he'd given the code. "Anyway. Yeah. Maybe it'll make sense, once we see it played out on-screen. These numbers start lookin' the same after a few hours."

 

He rearranged the wires and plugged them in, his nerves easing as he committed to the familiar task. The screen split in two; one, displaying sample #1, the memories of a performer. Ballet.

 

The other, a high school student. Junior.

 

Wataru had a vague idea of how Shinji'd obtained these memory banks and this headset... But, not wanting to ruin the moment with his questions, he nodded. "Ready?"

 

His hand was on Wataru's shoulder as he squeezed affirmatively. "Ready."

 

The code started to run with minimal abnormality, a bit of rewrite, slow and steady. It would meander into the infrastructure like any other coding, perhaps snaking through old files that had thought to have been purged. It would cozy up to the data, duplicating itself.

 

The ballet dancer froze, as if on pause. Something was malfunctioning, a loop that skipped like a scratched disc; the movements jerked uncharacteristically, as if in the thralls of a seizure or strong muscle tics.

 

The ballerina placed an elegant hand to her face. Her half of the screen halted.

 

All the while, the screen's other half progressed, its monotony accented by subtle yet significant changes in the boy's story line. Punctuality gave way to tardiness and then delinquency; afternoons with the neighbor's kid soon became weekends and then an entire vacation, unplanned.

 

By its end, the student who'd peered at his reflection through a bedroom mirror now gazed upon himself through a motel window. A paler, gaunter boy blinked back.

 

'That's the beauty of it,' Shinji'd explained over VR.

 

Taken in isolation, each decision and subsequent pitfall was sad, but not so out-of-character that anyone'd notice. Much less the boy himself.

 

\--

 

Wataru'd theorized that the ballerina's code was more difficult to fake than the high school student's. The latter's experiences were universal. The former, not-so. It'd take greater imagination to stage an agreeable downfall.

 

"But, I could be wrong," the boy shrugged. "What do you think?"

 

"Yes, I'd say so," Shinji concurred, hand having fallen to behind Wataru. There was a hair of excitement in his voice and eyes, like coming across a great discovery.

 

"I'd wager that it has to do with susceptibility as well - how likely you would be to engage regardless; having to make a variant."

 

He fiddled around on the PC, opening the documents to look at the coding, see the loops and conditions that worked, what didn't. It meshed well but was just a little too amateurish for his liking. He needed it to be undetectable until it was too late.

 

He looked back at the high schooler and smiled. "Good job, it's a start, 'ta-kun."

 

Wataru only noticed Shinji's hand as it withdrew from the dip in his back. The self-consciousness returned full force as the conversation ceased, and the work before them no longer served as a distraction but another monument to Wataru's short-comings. It was a start, but where would he go from here? He'd already spent months on the ballerina... And, further to that.

 

Further to that, he'd missed yet another opportunity to say something cute about that hand.

 

Damn it.

 

"T-thanks. But, I'll need more time to look it over. There's still a lot I have to learn."

 

"You're smart. You'll figure something out."

 

Imperceptible.

 

Shinji shifted from shoulder to shoulder to mouth to shell of Wataru's ear. If one filled the blanks, the pixels on a zoomed in photograph...

 

Shinji's lips skirted dangerously close to kissing it.

 

And then he pulled away, as if coercing the boy into a dance he knew the rhythm of but had forgotten. Something

 

latent

primal

wanton.

 

"Shinji... You don't... You aren't."

 

A pause.

 

"You're serious right? That I'm good at this? That I'm good enough for you?

 

I'm sorry but. It's just. Hard to believe, is all."

 

If Shinji was disappointed, he didn't show it. Instead he had a sweet smile on his face.

 

"'ta-kun. Of course you're enough."

 

Long fingers sturdier than a switch lifted the boy's chin to look him in the eyes. Dark black eyes that held so many secrets, many monsters, and perhaps malicious intentions bored at the young boy. And yet in the murky darkness, there was safety in the black; gentle and all encompassing like sleep, a dream even.

 

Wet and soft and carmine.

 

And then cold.

 

"I'm sorry if I'm putting too much pressure on you. It's just exciting meeting someone like you, someone who gets it, gets what we're trying to do. Kindred spirits and all."

 

His heart skipped. "No... It's not that."

 

Wataru's eyes settled on Shinji's mouth, then fluttered upward to meet that gaze. In the darkness, he shook his head. And then, with the sincerity of a child, he took the other man's hand.

 

The kissed he placed to his palm was tender, its motion like a flower placed at the foot of a shrine.

 

"It's just. I'm not used to this kinda thing," he admitted. "It feels like I'm doing everything wrong and... I don't want to... I can't... disappoint you. Not after we've finally met. In-person."

 

Shinji smiled, the boy like a lamb to honeysuckle. What a gentle soul, a starved creature hungry for more.

 

He'd give and disappear like life from frost.

 

"Let me be the judge of that," he whispered, assurances cloaking Wataru like fine silk. "I won't do anything you aren't a hundred percent comfortable with."

 

"I trust you." Wataru squeezed Shinji's hand.

 

The first time they'd met was within a forum thread that Wataru'd bookmarked in an uncharacteristic bout of sentimentality. What started as a conversation steeped in mutual interest mounted to ones of values, ideals and convictions. More than anything, Shinji was important because of that longevity; he'd been there his first year of high school. He'd been there to advise on the construction of his home rig, when Hiroe'd moved out and his parents were of the mind that he should be more like her. Less withdrawn. Brighter. Happier. All these things he wasn't, and had no desire to become.

 

All these things Shinji knew he wasn't, but accepted anyways.

 

It was surreal to be here, close confessing all of these things. But, Shinji made it feel natural, as he always did.

 

"More than anyone else, I trust you.

So... Please..."

 

Whatever else Wataru had on his lips, Shinji swallowed with his lips, his pleas and apprehensions. He wormed his hand to the boy's cheek, the apple of his cheek fitting like a perfect glove into his palm.

 

What a sweet, beautiful boy.

Like snow, when he would come to earth, touch the ground

 

he would melt.

Be sullied.

Sink into the mud.

 

And Shinji would admire his handiwork like a clockwork master; but for now, he had a boy whose trust needed to be ironclad, a blood oath of wires and coded ideologies. And that took the gentlest coercion of his hands down the small of the high schooler's back, pushing him towards his lap, to let him not feel overwhelmed.

 

"I won't hurt you. That was never my intention."

 

A lie.

 

"If you want to go slow, we will."

 

A half-truth.

 

And he placed a kiss to Wataru's forehead, as honest as the boy's attraction and want.

 

Wataru nodded. The warmth of his kiss had spread from its inception point through his spine and his chest, its effect like a current through water. It was overwhelming beyond reason, and he found it stupid how his body had reacted to such a small motion.

 

But.

 

He'd conceded that it was okay, because Shinji'd said it was. The offer was his to take, no judgement.

 

The boy settled his hands on the other man's shoulders and thumbed tentatively at the fabric.

 

...

 

His parents would kill him.

 

The thought suddenly crossed his mind; but, just as quickly, he allowed the doubt to embolden him.

 

Shinji'd said he'd be safe. Shinji'd said he was good enough. Shinji'd said he was ready.

 

His hands trailed back and around the man, pulling him into a tight embrace. The physicality reassured him: the beat of his heart to his chest and the quiet flow of air against his ear.

 

"I'd like that," he muttered.

 

Shinji merely nodded and kissed him again. His legs snaked through Wataru's, water moccasins in a current. He held this boy, pushing him higher up against him.

 

His hands wandered but never strayed, maintaining an illusory intimacy that kept its teeth hidden but clenched.

 

Shinji's hands over his sides, Shinji's hips under his own.

 

His head swam, barely noticing these shifts as he tilted his head for the deepening kiss.

 

\---

 

Between a break, Wataru's hoodie'd gone undone, thrown uselessly to the ground beside his bag and shoes. The shirt he'd worn beneath was a gray made darker by the summer heat. From the window, a reflection of Wataru'd curled against Shinji. Smaller. Vulnerable.

 

"I wanted to stay over tonight. That's what I meant. From earlier."

 

His eyes trailed to Shinji's half-opened bedroom, a few steps from their place on the couch. They darted back, face flushed by the ensuing thoughts.

 

"B-but not for that. Not yet, anyway..."

 

Shinji grinned. "How salacious."

 

He gave the sweet boy a kiss on his forehead. "You can borrow clothes if you need something to sleep in."

 

He gave Wataru a little nudge and scooted from underneath him, giving him another kiss and another. In another lifetime, one would consider some genuine attraction for the teen.

 

This one, there were strings attached.

 

"You want to leave your things here or take them to the bedroom? I'm gonna hop in the shower for a bit."

 

"I'll leave them here."

 

Shinji'd already dipped to the bathroom, hand raised to acknowledge the choice. The door shut just as nonchalantly.

 

Wataru turned to the pile the man had designated as clean. The clothes he'd picked for this encounter were comfortable enough. T-shirt. Hoodie. Jeans. But, the indulgence presented itself plainly as the boy took a dress-shirt and ran his fingers along the seam-lines.

 

In itself, the piece of clothing was nothing special.

 

But, Shinji'd worn it before.

 

It smelled of detergent and fabric softener, but also distinctly of him.

 

He took off his shirt, and slipped his arms experimentally into its sleeves. The tails fell short of his knees; the cuffs limped over the tips of his fingers.

 

' _I must look so fucking dumb._ '

 

Shinji leaned against the doorframe, watching the boy as he put on his clothes, smelled his clothes.

 

Smelled him.

 

His clothes swallowed the teenager, like snakes to a young mouse. He waited and watched as Wataru dressed and undressed, finding certain clothes he liked and others he didn't care for. He was painfully cute.

 

If he had been smarter, he wouldn't be here.

If he had been more open, he'd have had a nice boyfriend his age.

 

He wrapped his arms behind Wataru, placing his head atop of his. He smelled clean, like fresh cotton; inoffensive and almost plain.

 

"Having fun, 'ta-kun?"

 

Wataru withheld a squeak as Shinji held him, those fingers edging over the fabric to his bare skin.

 

"I-I... Was just looking for something that fit."

 

When he'd realized that he'd drawn attention to their size difference, he flushed. That was an unnecessary observation.

 

"It's alright if the shirt is big. But, the pants..."

 

Shinji's spare shorts had slipped around his hips, revealing the elastic of his briefs. This observation made it worse.

 

_Oh my god. Shut up, Wataru._

 

"That's alright; do you have your own," he started, turning Wataru around to a mostly naked Shinji. He was warm and damp from the shower, a low slung pair of boxers covering him with no obvious outlines.

 

"I tend to not wear bottoms until winter, sorry."

 

An easy, bashful little smile as he let go, meandering to the frameless bed in the small, tidy bedroom. Inoffensive furniture, mass-produced for cheapness and efficiency; a floor lamp beside a small stack of books.

 

A duvet was wrinkled, a lone black sheet over the bed with partially wrapped pillows. Spitting image of a bachelor and college student.

 

Dropout worked too.

 

After the shot of adrenaline'd left him, Wataru considered the wordless invitation. It was around this time that Wataru'd finished his rounds on the forums and settled into the residual gaming, homework or freeform coding. Shinji'd always left his status as Available, because he always happened to be when Wataru thought to message him.

 

A few more hours until bedtime and a few more hours still, given his summer break.

 

The boy laughed and shook it off. Past the kiss, Shinji's suggestiveness was a means of teasing him, obviously-- of pointing to the absurdity of their interaction. Shinji knew that he was inexperienced and this was heavy-handed. Wataru'd pointed that out himself.

 

"So. What do we do now?"

 

He plopped onto the bed's corner. "Lay around?"

 

Shinji turned his head to him. "We could."

 

There was that lopsided little grin again. Not cocky, not amorous; open and coy, almost an invitation for more closeness.

 

And then the look changed to acceptance and a touch of expectation. "But we both know that's not what'll happen, is it."

 

No room for questioning, for backing out. They were here in this stage and they had roles to play; Shinji was shuffling the cues and waiting for Wataru to take the right one.

 

Oh.

 

He was serious.

 

Wataru hesitated, that moment of reprieve dashed by the reality of their situation. He'd made his attraction clear in that kiss, and in allowing Shinji to kiss and then touch him half-naked. Now, he was sitting on the other man's bed, in his clothes. He'd sent these signals, he'd established the connection.

 

What was the harm in taking it further, at least short of allowing Shinji to...

 

Wataru nodded; no longer feeling silly for expecting too much, but for anticipating too little.

 

"No..." he admitted. "I guess... it isn't.

 

...Sorry. It's the first time anyone's treated me like an adult."

 

Shinji could've been cold, could've been brutal.

 

_The first time you were treated like an adult..._

_...or the first time you had to step up to make an adult decision?_

 

But he refrained. Instead he lay next to him and said, "Don't apologize. You shouldn't feel obligated to perform for me, not if you don't feel ready."

 

Yet.

Always.

 

"You do look very cute in my clothes though," he offered, a gentle tease that seemed loving, kind. Like a partner should be.

 

They were partners, friends in their ideologues; partners in almost-crime. There was only one more frontier for their relationship.

 

Cute.

 

...It was flattering in the way Shinji said it, and Wataru allowed himself to indulge in the endearment.

 

"I know I'd said that I didn't want to go there... just yet." Wataru turned to face the man beside him, face still warm. "But, I wouldn't mind something close. If you'll show me what to do."

 

Lupine teeth to tender rabbit meat.

 

Behind lips that pressed against Wataru's, soft and keeping the canines at bay.

 

Shinji's fingers grazed the peach fuzz on Wataru's youthful cheeks, a soft moan when they parted.

 

"Good. Tell me when you want to stop."

 

The pedal had been pushed and the odometer started to read 5, crawling to 10 then 20. And in that time, Shinji's hands wandered to Wataru's hip bones, the pants long since discarded to the floor but briefs still high up.

 

His lips found that Wataru's Adam's apple fit just right between them, tongue skating down the boy's jugular.

 

He let the boy take off his shirt, small, bite-sized bruises peppering his collarbone like a necklace. "You're a fast learner," he teased his young paramour.

 

And his thumb pressed against the elastic, hungry yet patient; predator to prey.

 

_Was he?_

 

Wataru's knees turned upward, feet dragging with the sheets. Shinji's touches lingered long after those fingers'd left the skin, its effect like a phantom's afterimage. When they settled at his hips, Wataru understood his cue.

 

"...Don't stop."

 

He moved his hands, not realizing how tightly he'd balled them, and placed them over the other man's. The knuckles were cool to the touch-- at least by contrast.

 

He followed Shinji's guide, crouched above the other man as he sat.

 

"Please."

 

Shinji tilted his head with a little smirk, pleased with himself.

 

"God, you're so fucking cute," heavy breathes in genuine admiration, for the first time the whole encounter. Taking in the sight of this boy giving way to a base desire most people had. Shell cracked to reveal something terrible tender, savory; Shinji was there, he had to be delicate.

 

He held Wataru with a certain firmness appropriate for an experienced man, inappropriate for a mentor, uncalled for an adult with a child.

 

And he squeezed gently enough to encourage a moan, a plea. "Please what, Wataru-chan?"

 

Like he was talking to a pet, an obedient creature that yearned to please him at his beck and call.

 

He bit his lip, shame overtaken by attraction, caution by the promise of validation.

 

"Please... Let me know this is real."

 

He kissed Shinji, more fervently than he had to his palm, and with the conviction that this relationship was worthwhile-- that it was worth offering himself to Shinji in this way.

 

Bingo.

 

In one fell swoop, he pulled the boy to him and pushed his boxers down, colliding the two of them like snakes in his fist; his tongue pushed forward into his mouth, a dart in the darkness.

 

Like a virus

Like a disease

Like an ideology

 

He was taking root and couldn't stop, even if he wanted to. They were both hot and flushed, blood thumping like jackrabbits in heat. His hand found those boyish hips, held him by the crest and pushed him forward, bucking against him as a means to start a dance between them.

 

His breathes were messy and wet, lips under Wataru's, whose teeth showed. His brows furrowed, the boy was overstimulated and possibly frightened, overcome and overwhelmed.

 

"You like this? Feels nice, doesn't it," he whispered like it was all a secret. He pumped them both harder, slick with sweat and cum and coming close.

 

He let go of them to grab Wataru's hand, hovering over and guided them both. They were of equal size and status, experience not withstanding.

Reflexively, Wataru'd placed his hands to Shinji's shoulders. The motion was jarring in its abruptness, his breath stopped by the break in character. But, just as Wataru'd thought to tell him to stop, that he wasn't ready and that this was too much, the other man slowed.

 

His fingers kneaded, apologetically-- deliberate in its pace.

 

Wataru groaned and thrust into the heat. As it mounted, his body wavered beneath the heady weight of its own arousal.

 

His hand had fallen where they'd connected, guided by Shinji's. Thick. Hot. Pulsing.

 

"A-ah... G-god."

 

He came first, slumped forward onto the other man with the creak of his mattress. His eyes came and went in focus to the nearby table lamp.

 

_Figures. Virgins._

 

He kept pumping Wataru, gently and slow against himself, slick with the both of them. The humidity made the stickiness worse but that didn't deter him from the situation.

 

Shinji groaned, a huff of his nose slightly delayed by his release as it splattered on his stomach with Wataru's. He pushed him close to him, kissing his shoulder and sucked the supple flesh into him.

 

"Good job," he whispered to every cell in the boy's body. He did better than he had expected, pleased with where the night had lead the both of them. "You alright?"

 

He'd allow the boy the chance to gather his regrets, his composure.

 

If he'd been told a few hours prior that he'd be so docile, pressed to the other man's body and held upright in his arms, he might have gagged. The contrast of his appearance to his personality was an unlucky hand; the persona he'd built online remedied the dissonance.

 

But, on Shinji's bed, Wataru looked and acted the part of a pretty boy who'd just had his first time and it was... fine. Not ideal, but acceptable.

 

A moment passed and Wataru nodded against the crook of Shinji's neck.

 

"That was a lot," he mumbled. He pressed his lips to his skin, soft as a kitten's. "But, I'm glad it was with you."

 

\---

 

Morning came with the fog; quiet, muted and soft. Any sound of nature had been overcome by typical city hubbub, chattering of students wandering outside in the hallways to their last classes for the semester or quarter.

 

Shinji stayed still as dew on the windows, sticky as it too. He was hard in his sleep, holding Wataru to him like a dog claiming a bone. He snored ever so softly, the minimal makeup on his face smeared and meshed into his black bedding.

 

A bird landed outside the window, chirping its morning song before fleeing a territorial swallow chasing it away.

 

That woke him up.

 

He stirred a bit, looking at the small sleeping boy before pecking his chin, feeling his erection against him. He couldn't restrain a teasing stroke, enjoying the soft, tender little sound he made.

 

He grinned when he heard his name in his sleep.

 

And with that, he gently lifted the youth off, putting on clothes to wander off into the kitchen.

 

Wataru awoke a half hour later, when Shinji'd placed the second mackerel to the skillet and flipped it. The blinds fell across his face in streaks of light and shadow, then to his arm and legs as he heaved himself forwarded.

 

The sheets stuck to his skin as he moved; warm and sticky upon contact, but damp and clammy to the morning air. His fingers fell to his stomach and traced downward to his crotch and between his thighs. He flushed, unable to tell if the cum was his or...

 

Last night's memories hit like a whirring brick. Wataru reoriented himself, shakily, reached and pulled on his briefs and the shirt Shinji'd lent him last night.

 

Through the crack of the barely open bedroom, Shinji settled a plate onto the table. His laptop'd remained open on the loveseat, and an unopened bottle of root beer on the table. Wataru shifted his attention from the kitchen and living room to the bathroom across the ways. There was a chance that Shinji'd spot him before he could make himself look decent.

 

But, there was also a possibility that he'd be able to clean himself, undetected.

 

His lips flatlined.

 

And, he took that chance.

 

"Morning."

 

Cool as a goddamn cucumber, Shinji slurped a sip of black coffee. The smell of salt and fresh cooked rice wafted in the air, inviting like the arm splayed behind the loveseat.

 

He looked up at Wataru and then to the bathroom, either giving him permission or daring him to try.

 

"Cell service might be shit - think a windstorm got one of the towers," he offered, taking another sip. He ignored the root beer still, more interested in the little kitten still trying to warm up to his new surroundings.

 

Wataru's hand fell.

 

"Ah... Well. I'm not expecting any calls, at least," he said lamely.

The boy shot the bathroom a forlorn look before walking toward Shinji, whose patience Wataru felt he'd tested.

 

Beneath the other man's expectant gaze, he felt indecent-- obscene, in the way the shirt barely covered the mess on his body. He thought to button it; but, the timing'd escaped him and he decided better this than risk another probing comment.

 

"Anyway. Morning." He pressed at his hair casually, neverminding the stray tufts that escaped his fingers. "What's for breakfast?"

 

Shinji patted beside him, where there was a hot plate next to a glass of water on a coaster for Wataru. "Mackerel and rice, which I hope is fine. Helps me focus in the mornings."

 

He took a scan of Wataru, imprinting each detail like a grocery list in his head.

 

"Sleep well? I know it gets muggy here, real bad."

 

He maneuvered his chopsticks under the flaky meat, picking it up with a pat of rice before swallowing it down.

 

Typically, breakfast entailed something home-cooked, either by mom or dad or Hiroe. Dad and Hiroe tended toward sugary things-- pancakes, waffles, buns and fruit. Mom liked the traditional, natto, rice and miso, but compromised sometimes with her famous sweet rolled omelettes.

 

Most days, he'd skip them over, substituting the formality for sliced bread and a quiet walk to school.

 

Shinji's preparation appeared adult by comparison, but familiar in its simplicity.

 

He took his seat, eyes cast downward.

"I did. Thanks."

 

Maybe it was also an adult thing, not mentioning the night before. There was relief in that, the casual glance Shinji'd thrown in his direction before resuming his meal. But, there was also some apprehension. Was it a one time thing? Had he imagined it?

 

Wataru tucked his chopsticks into the fish's soft underside. In spite himself, he stole a glance in Shinji's direction.

 

"Uh... Did you?"

 

Shinji nodded, taking another munch and a sip of coffee. That root beer was still unopened but probably too warm to enjoy. Perhaps one would consider it no good, used even.

 

"Been a while since I've had anyone over. You're a pretty quiet sleeper, 'taru-chan--"

 

He stopped himself and looked back at the younger boy. One could see his lips in the right light, under a microscope, the faintest hints of the corners tucking in to form a smirk.

 

Shinji'd never mentioned anyone significant in his life. No girlfriend or boyfriend. Not even much in the way of family, either. To have Shinji affirm that was comforting.

 

The endearment, on the other hand.

 

Wataru turned to Shinji, half-expecting a laugh to follow the joke. But, his expression'd remained without irony.

 

"D-don't call me that," Wataru mumbled. "Ta-kun's already embarrassing enough."

 

Shinji chuckled. "Not my fault you're cute."

 

He looked back at the boy and kissed his forehead. "But noted," he murmured. Too soon to take it out of the bedroom.

 

"Though, I thought you didn't mind 'ta-kun," he said with, what had to have been, a bit of a pout. It disappeared as quickly as it came.

 

"So, about last night, Wataru; do you have any regrets?"

 

And, before Wataru could think to squirm, flush or apologize (in that order), he froze.

 

"N-no...!" His voice'd gone too loud there. He self-corrected. "Of course not, Shinji-san. I meant it. Last night, when I said I'm glad it was with you."

 

Another thought crossed his mind. He bit his bottom lip, eyes flitting from the living space back to Shinji.

 

"...Was it enough for you, though?"

 

Shinji closed the gap between them with a kiss, food ignored for something a little more fresh, unsullied.

 

"Talk like that and it won't be," he murmured into that terribly accommodating mouth.

 

He brushed a piece of rice from Wataru's cheek and ate it as if it were the most obvious thing to do. "No -san, it's too...formal for this, don't you think?"

 

He nodded, acknowledging his own naivete and apologizing for it. Shinji's motions' had made the attraction apparent from the beginning. In hindsight, Wataru was just illiterate to their nuance.

 

"Y-yeah. Sorry, I know it's pointless to repeat what's already been said. But, it's still sinking in, you know? That you like me." _As much as I like you._

 

He left that last part unsaid, placed a kiss to Shinji's lips in its stead. "So, does this mean that... we're. Uh." Lovers seemed inappropriate; boyfriends, too forthcoming. "Official, now?" He cringed, having chosen something so sophomoric. "Not that you have to answer that. Sorry. Again."

 

Shinji gave him another forehead kiss as confirmation as anything. "Don't apologize; own it. You are mine and I am yours."

 

For the time being.

 

Shinji looked at him again and broke for breakfast, finishing the mackerel in his bowl and some rice still present. He slurped down some coffee and looked at Wataru.

 

"Unless you'd like to, ah, consummate it."

 

The look he gave must've been what the devil looked like upon meeting Eve.

 

Between last night and this morning, his gut remained steadfast in its reluctance.

 

But, he asked himself, if not now then when? The ground he'd gained with Shinji continued to shift beneath his feet, elusive even as the other man steadied him over and over again. Perhaps this was what he'd needed. Perhaps going there would solidify that foundation, render dust to sand, sand to stone.

 

"I think... That's what I need, after all," he said, forcing a smile. Like the rootbeer, his meal remained untouched. "Sorry for backtracking.

 

...And apologizing again. Aha..."

 

Shinji nodded and cleared the plates, and moved the root beer back into the fridge for another day.

 

\---

 

Tender efficiency was an oxymoron that described Shinji.

 

He lured the boy in his room with that demeanor of his, shamelessly charming and charismatic. He kissed him like a salesman, all pretty words with nasty undertones. Like snakes, their skins shed to tender flesh, as more of Shinji became clear.

 

Pale skin with scars; nipple piercings; black ink work on his right shoulder like a shadow scraping through his muscles. He loomed over the boy and asked,

 

"Are you sure?"

 

In those black murky eyes laid some sort of beguiling creature that would assure Wataru he wouldn't be harmed, wouldn't be devoured, wouldn't be abandoned.

 

Not now. Not at the precipice of vulnerable and broken.

 

But, pain hadn't crossed Wataru's mind. Up until this point, Shinji had taken things slowly, proceeding only when he said he could.

 

Wataru lingered over the other man's body as he stepped closer. He'd seen plenty of chests like his, removed by way of photographic stills, and artistic black and whites. These were people that lead lives fundamentally different from his own. Cool. Bohemian.

 

By comparison, Wataru's skin was smooth, his body soft and lean from a lack of interest in physical activities. Or, some part of him noted, a lack of adequacy.

 

He dismissed that notion, took his place on Shinji's bed and hoped his lack of hesitation counted for confidence. His legs spread slightly. An invitation.

 

Shinji exhaled, his own nervousness palpable only to himself. He was younger than the rest, more chaste than the rest. And somehow the taboo made it more appetizing, more so than breakfast had been; he didn't even receive a comment for tasting like salty mackerel and bitter black coffee.

 

"Christ, you are cute," he murmured with a half smile and dug out his wallet; a small tube of lubricant and a condom. He wasn't that cruel.

 

Not now.

 

"Try and last a bit, 'taru," he murmured, knelt down and whispering into the soft meat of Wataru's thigh.

 

Now, there was fire around Wataru, a pleasant humidity in Shinji's mouth with one hand stabilizing himself with the other pushing up Wataru's ass. He maneuvered his head, however occupied other parts were, to navigate between his legs.

 

He noted the way his toes crinkled against his back, the way his fingers clawed at his scalp. He was unabated and overwhelmed, and that was as good a sign for Shinji. The sound of torn foil was quieted by moans, the sound of wet lubricant nonexistent in the room

 

Wataru hadn't expected Shinji to start here and he'd almost stopped him-- said he didn't have to, warned him that it was still dirty from last night. But, the protest had stopped at his throat, compressed by the quiet flattery that Shinji'd placed Wataru's pleasure before his own.

 

The finger stretched him, imperceptible until it'd started to move, reaching deep. He arched into the other man's mouth, coming close-- but not so close that he'd allow the excitement to overtake him as quickly as it had last night. Between the waves of pleasure, Wataru held onto this as his anchor.

 

_'It's your second chance. Don't fuck up.'_

 

Shinji's tongue slid over the ridges of his cock, falling back over the tip and forward again. Wataru tensed, hands falling from Shinji's hair to his shoulders.

 

"Shinji..." The desperation apparent in its pitch.

 

_I'm ready. Please. I'm so close._

 

His hands slid down to himself, having rubbed the residual lube on the already slick condom.

 

Showtime.

 

It took him nothing to slide in, quick, effortless, a bullet in a cavern to the heart of a fawn. Wataru was warm and tight and palpably afraid and Shinji whispered,

 

"I'll cover you.

You are mine

And I am yours,"

 

In clipped breaths as he stabilized himself from being overcome, disassociated to narrating to Wataru's conscious fears and subconscious paranoias that this was all a trap.

 

He was of average size and girth, the plasticine texture of the condom overwriting the natural curvature, bumps of moles and veins and skin. He hiked Wataru's legs over his shoulders, kissing his throat and stroking him to coax out his name like prayers from an abbot.

 

His rhythm was steady, practiced in how precisely he timed each penetration, hitting into Wataru after each desperate plea. He kissed under his ears, lips memorizing the thrumming of his pulse and hands intertwined to drive the point home of just how wrapped around him this boy was.

 

Wataru blinked back his tears as Shinji thrust, hips meeting his with quiet force. Above the sound of his own breathing, the boy registered the mattress as it creaked beneath him, Shinji's reassurances as they peppered his skin.

 

Often, he likened emotions to nuisances; inconveniences to be tolerated as they ran their course, and then dismissed once they'd finished. But, the other man'd remained unironic in his affection, even now.

 

Even at the height of his vulnerability.

 

Wataru batted at his eyes, overcome by the other man's sincerity. Shinji would see the motion, Wataru knew that.

 

The other man could tease him for being so uncharacteristic in his sentiments.

 

But he wouldn't. Wataru knew that too.

 

And, it was this validation that he'd sought and finally gained.

 

Lips peppered wet eyelids, holding Wataru captive in a full, all encompassing dance.

 

He had him.

 

He used his free hand to stroke him, gently, kindly, and whispered, "Come for me, 'taru."

 

Firm, steadfast and ever patient like each thrust as he kissed the boy as if he threatened to suck every ounce of soul and free will he had in his young body. "You feel so _good_ ," he added, punctuated by a particularly strong thrust into the younger boy.

 

"Hnghh... Shinji..."

 

His body curled against Shinji's, hips arched into the other man's hand. Another deep, claiming thrust matched the last and Wataru sobbed as he came, the quiet sound pressed to Shinji's lips.

 

Shinji wiped the tears with a free hand, his other pumping and stroking Wataru to ride out his climax. Each kiss peppered him until he followed shortly after, lying down next to the boy and sighed.

 

And in the cold light of morning, he smiled at this boy he claimed for himself, the kiss on his forehead saying everything.


End file.
